


When Mountains Crumble to the Sea (Milex)

by dogisnotdead



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:06:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogisnotdead/pseuds/dogisnotdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the limpness in his body, like the strings in his body once holding him tight and together, have stretched and lost all slack. And I’m here to witness the strings inside of him snap.<br/>He picked the right day for this. The clouds have been out all day, they’re saying that a storm's coming, a nor’easter. I wonder if he feels like he’s in the eye of a storm, like everything is falling apart, a mess in his wake. I know I should save him. But, hell, I’m no hero. I know I have to save him. But, shit, I’m no saint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Mountains Crumble to the Sea (Milex)

I see him standing there on the docks, I can’t see his face. I am the only one here, I am the only one here to save him and I know. I know what he wants to do. Perhaps what he is about to do. I don’t know. Part of me wants him to snap out of it and go home, because, hell, I’m not hero, I’m no saint. But I know he won’t. I just know it. It’s the limpness in his body, like the strings in his body once holding him tight and together, have stretched and lost all slack. And I’m here to witness the strings inside of him snap.  
He picked the right day for this. The clouds have been out all day, they’re saying that a storm's coming, a nor’easter. I wonder if he feels like he’s in the eye of a storm, like everything is falling apart, a mess in his wake. I know i should save him. But, hell, I’m no hero. I know I have to save him. But, shit, I’m no saint.  
There’s no one here. hell, who’s going to go out on a night like this? Only a crazy suicidal nut and someone as stupid and careless and hopeless as me.  
He’s put his arms out like he’s Jesus Christ or something. And I guess it’s fitting. I mean, you never see any suicidal nut cannonball to his death.  
I start running. I can hardly notice my legs moving or the wind sharp against my face. I don’t even remember the moment when I decided to run, I just know that I have to stop him.  
I’m on the dock, a good 15 feet away from him and I scream, “Stop!” Only it comes out as a raspy whisper lost among the angry howling of the wind. So I run. I run to him, I grab his shoulder so he can face me and… Shit… It’s him. It’s him. It’s him.  
“Al?” My voice croaks. I feel a string inside of me snap.  
His eyes widen and his mouth opens like he’s already jumped in and he’s struggling for air.  
“Mi-miles?” His lips are blue. His hair clings to his forehead and, shit… he’s shivering.  
I’m frozen in place.  
“Miles…” My heart aches, another string snaps and before I can help it, my arms are around his cold, shivering body.  
I remove my face from the nook in his neck and look up into his eyes. The familiar warmth in his eyes isn’t there anymore. His face has hardened since I last saw him. The familiar crinkles around his eyes and his easy smile aren’t there any more. He isn’t my Al anymore. Another string breaks.  
“Al.” The space between our noses has quickly disappeared. I’ve thought about this moment for years, ever since the day I left him. God, I was such an idiot. Fuck, I’ve ruined everything.  
“I love you,” I say. Only it comes out as, “I’m so sorry.”  
I go to look in his eyes, but they close the moment that his lips touch mine. It’s a desperate, hungry kiss. But our lips are so cold.  
He breaks away. His body is so fastened to mine, that I can feel his shivers. Fuck, I need to get him away from here, someplace warm.  
“Why?” He says. There’s love in his eyes but I know he’s hurt, he’s confused. Fuck.  
I grab his hand. I want to tell him, I want to make it up right there and then, I want him to explain himself, to tell me where he’s been. It’s been eight goddamn years, and I’ve thought about him every single day. But my legs move before I can speak. I need to get him away.  
The dock creaks as our feet hit the wood. I can feel him snap out of it, and he begins to run with me. We’re running like madmen away from the cold, blue sea and I haven’t been as hopeful as this in years.


End file.
